A Little Problem
by JanetD
Summary: A tale of what happened to Nick in 1996 when he took too much cocaine, and got into difficulty. This story is based on events mentioned in the Season Two episode “Where You Are”.


**Title:**A Little Problem (1/1)  
**Date Written:** 2/17/03  
**Author: **JanetD  
**Rating:** PG (language)  
**Summary:** A tale of what happened to Nick in 1996 when he took too much cocaine, and got into difficulty. This story is based on events mentioned in the Season Two episode Where You Are.  
**Author's Notes**: 1) In Where You Are, Nick's old friend Rob has just become an F&F client. Burton knows Rob from an incident in 1996 when Nick was living in New York City and partied a little too hard one evening and over-dosed on cocaine. Rob made the phone call that alerted Burton to what had happened. In the episode, Rob relates a detailed version of the incident to Burton. When Burton repeats the story to his son, Nick basically tells him it didn't happen as Rob described, and ends the discussion by saying, I had a little problem, and I asked him to call you. This is my version of what actually transpired that weekend. As with any nicfic, I've made certain assumptions and invented certain details to fill in the holes for the things we don't know. For instance, I have made Rob Nick's roommate, although that was never stated in the show, and also I've supplied him with a last name.   
2) Thanks go to Goldie for the beta read. =)  
**Disclaimer:** This is a work of fiction. The characters in this story are borrowed from the TV show "The Guardian". No money is being made from this story. Any resemblance of a character in this story to any real person living or dead is purely coincidental. Likewise, any resemblance between an organization depicted in this story and any such actual organization is purely coincidental.  
  
**Setup:** Fall 1996. Nick and Rob and some friends from Swann & Cranston have been partying at a bar on a Friday night after closing a big bond deal. Coke has been used freely, along with alcohol. It's about 10:00PM when the crowd decides to move on to a model party on the East Side.  
  
Two suit-clad figures, one heavily supporting the other, emerged from O'Shea's Bar and Grill, and into the steadily-falling rain.   
  
Oh, shit, thought Rob Martell. That's just what I need right now--rain.   
  
He clasped his arm tighter around the back of his roommate Nick Fallin, and pushed on toward the car. His friend was finding walking difficult due to having over-indulged in a combination of cocaine and alcohol. Nick stumbled, and Rob adjusted his hold.  
  
he thought to himself, Nick is really stoned.   
  
As they made their slow way to the Mustang, Rob observed the two cars carrying their other friends pulling out of the parking lot. Thanks, guys. Leave me here alone to deal with a totally wasted Nick. Thanks a lot.  
  
A moment later, Rob felt the young attorney's body begin to sag to the ground. He grabbed Nick with both hands, and struggled to bring him back to his feet, yelling, Nick, hey, stay with me here! Stay with me! The next thing Rob knew he was watching his friend's eyes roll back in his head as he lost consciousness.   
  
Oh, shit! Rob said loudly. Nick! Come on, man! Come on, don't do this to me.   
  
He grabbed Nick under the arms, and began to half-carry/half-drag him to the car. Nick's expensive black leather shoes scuffed along the pavement in their wake. When they reached the cherry-red Mustang, Rob laid Nick's upper torso across the hood of the wet car, and dug out his keys. He opened the passenger-side door, and then went back to try to revive Nick.   
  
Nick, wake up! Wake up! Come on.   
  
He shook his friend, and after a minute, Nick roused enough to be able to get into the car with Rob's assistance. Rob walked around and took his place in the driver's seat. Then he turned to Nick, a serious expression on his face.  
  
Nick, I think we need to take you to the hospital.  
  
Nick had his eyes closed, but mumbled, No, no...no hospital. M'okay.  
  
Nick, man, you're in bad shape. I think you need help.  
  
NO! No hospital, jussst...take me home.  
  
Rob sighed in frustration. He thought Nick really should see a doctor. But then, he told himself, he really didn't want to deal with the questions that would be asked at the E.R.--Nick wasn't the only one that was high right now. Rob didn't think the hospital would get the police involved, but there could be other negative consequences if word got out about this. No, he could manage it on his own. He'd have to manage it on his own. Starting the car, Rob glanced over at roommate, and shook his head. God, it was going to be a long night.  
  
---+---  
  
Rob half-carried Nick into the lobby of their apartment building, struggling to keep his roommate on his feet. They made their painful way to the elevators--Thank God for elevators, Rob thought--and up to their sixth floor apartment. Rob leaned Nick against the wall, and kept one hand on his chest to steady him as he unlocked the door.   
  
Come on, Nick, we're home, he said, as he assisted the other man into the living room. He guided Nick to the couch and down to a sitting position, then went into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. When Rob came back to the living room he found Nick sprawled on the sofa, passed out. It took him longer to rouse his buddy this time, and he began to get scared.   
  
he thought. What do I do?   
  
As Rob stared at the unconscious Nick, he suddenly remembered what he'd always seen them do in the movies when someone was in this kind of condition. Getting Nick to his feet, Rob manuevered his friend into the bathroom. Pausing to put down the raised toilet seat, Rob placed Nick on the commode, and began to remove his roommate's clothes. He pulled off his shoes and socks. Then, with Nick protesting weakly, he stripped off the young lawyer's suit jacket and removed his shirt and tie. Pulling the other man to his feet, Rob got Nick's pants off. Holding on to his friend to keep him upright, Rob reached over and turned the shower on full-force--all cold water. He guided the half-conscious Nick, now clad only in his boxers, into the shower, and listened to him yell as the cold water made contact with his skin.   
  
Son of a bitch! Nick cried. He attempted to come back out of the shower, but Rob, who was still supporting Nick's weight (and getting very wet in the process) held him where he was.   
  
Not yet, buddy, not yet, Rob said soothingly.  
  
After a couple minutes, Rob decided that Nick was as awake as the cold shower was going to make him.   
  
Okay, you can come out now.   
  
He helped his roommate out of the shower stall, and then grabbed Nick's white terry bathrobe off the back of the bathroom door. Wrapping it around his shivering friend, he managed to work Nick's arms into the sleeves. Once that was accomplished, he assisted Nick into the kitchen, and got him seated at the end of the kitchen table. Nick leaned forward and rested his head in his hands. A few drops of water dripped from his wet hair onto the tabletop. Rob walked over to the counter where the freshly brewed coffee stood waiting. He pulled a coffee cup down from the cabinet. He filled it two-thirds full with the steaming, black liquid, figuring that a full cup of hot coffee would be a dangerous thing to have around Nick in his current state. He returned to the table with the coffee, and placed a hand on Nick's shoulder.  
  
Coffee, Nick.   
  
Nick didn't respond.  
  
Come on, Nicky, you need to drink this. Come on.  
  
Nick raised his head slowly, and Rob brought the cup to his lips. As his friend started to drink, Rob said softly, That s it. But Nick pulled back after the first sip.   
  
It's too hot, he complained.  
  
Rob looked at Nick for a second in exasperation, then said, Okay, I can fix that. He went to the sink, and added a little cold water to the cup of coffee. Turning back around he found that Nick had laid his head down on the table. His eyes were closed.  
  
God dammit! Rob thought.   
  
He walked back to stand next to Nick, put the coffee cup down, and then shook his roommate's shoulder roughly.   
  
Nick, man! You can't sleep. You go to sleep, you might never wake up. Come on!  
  
Rob pulled Nick up off the table and leaned him back in the chair.   
  
Come on! he said again, slapping Nick's cheek sharply.   
  
Nick came awake at that, and put his hand up feebly to try to block Rob from striking him again.   
  
That's it. Good boy, Rob said encouragingly. Now drink this.   
  
He picked up the cup and put it to Nick's lips. He watched him take a tentative sip. When Nick made no objection, Rob forced him to take another sip, and then another. When the cup was empty, Rob went back to refill it, again adding water to cool it off. He succeeded in getting most of the second cup down Nick's throat before the young man pulled back, refusing to drink any more.  
  
Rob said. Then it's time to walk. Come on. We're going to go for a little walk, Nick.  
  
Nick protested, but Rob pulled him out of the chair, and got one arm around his back and under his left arm. He put Nick's right arm around his neck, and grabbed onto his dangling hand to keep it in position. Rob's own wet clothes were feeling quite uncomfortable by this point, but he didn't have time to worry about that. He knew it was important to get Nick moving...and to keep him moving. He started walking Nick out of the kitchen, and into the living room, as his friend mumbled his displeasure.  
  
Don't wanna walk. Wanna sit down. Let me sit down.  
  
Rob ignored Nick's complaints, and began walking him up and down the room. It was a struggle, as Nick's legs would start to collapse from under him about every fourth or fifth step. After about ten minutes of this activity, Rob felt worn out. The next time Nick started to go limp, his roommate decided it was time for a rest. He got Nick back into the kitchen, and into the chair. He forced more coffee into him. After a little while, he got him up for some more walking. This process was repeated for the next few hours--the occasional trip to the bathroom being the only thing that broke their rhythm.   
  
Finally, about 2:00AM, Rob let Nick settle down onto the couch in the living room. Nick had begun to support more of his own weight on their most recent back-and-forths across the room, and Rob was too tired to keep up the pacing any longer. Nick leaned back into the corner of the couch, and closed his eyes. Rob stared at him for a moment, then got up and headed for the kitchen. He returned shortly with a cup of coffee, and sat down on the opposite end of the sofa from Nick.   
  
As Rob watched his friend's slow, even breaths, he thought, Maybe we're past the danger point.   
  
But he really didn't know for sure. He did know that he'd have to spend the rest of the night watching Nick, making sure he continued to breathe those slow breaths. Rob sighed, took a big sip of the hot coffee, and settled back to begin his vigil.  
  
Around dawn, Rob found that he was having an increasingly hard time staying awake. He could barely keep his eyes open, despite the many cups of coffee he had had. Finally, he decided to wake Nick, see how he was doing, see if he was coherent and aware again.   
  
He reached forward, and took hold of roommate's arm, calling his name, Nick, Nicky, wake up....Nick.   
  
Nick stirred and opened his eyes. He looked at Rob in confusion.   
  
Hey, man, are you with me? Rob asked.  
  
Nick asked sleepily.  
  
Are you back with me?... How do you feel?... Talk to me, Nick.  
  
Nick was still confused. Glancing down he realized he was dressed in his bathrobe.  
  
What...what's going on? Why--he rubbed at his head--why am I out here in my robe?  
  
Don't you remember?  
  
Nick looked at him blankly.  
  
What's been going on, Rob answered with exasperation, is that you had a little too much fun at the party last night. You od'ed, buddy. I tried to take you to the emergency room, but you didn't want to go. So I brought you back here, and it's been a long night, let me tell you.  
  
Nick put a hand up to his eyes, fuzzy memories of Rob forcing him to walk the floor coming back to him, but most of the night was a hazy blur. He listened distractedly as Rob related the tale of how he had brought him back to the apartment, gotten him into the shower, poured coffee into him, and so on. Nick remembered little of it, and it scared him. This had never happened to him before. He'd been high...lots of times, but he'd never lost consciousness, let alone gone through the things he'd apparently gone through tonight.   
  
Oh, God, he thought with dismay. What's happening to me? What am I doing?  
  
Rob was still going on at length about what he'd done for Nick to keep him from sinking into a coma when Nick suddenly interjected, Call my dad.   
  
Rob had been going full-force, and it took him a second to realize what Nick had said.  
  
Call my dad.  
  
Now? Are you crazy? It's not even six in the morning.  
  
I don't care. Call him.  
  
Rob said, in a tone of voice intended to convey the folly of this move.  
  
Nick just stared at him, resolute. Call him.... Please.  
  
Rob shrugged. He reached for the pen and notepad that sat on the end table by the phone. What's his number?  
  
Nick reeled off the number, and Rob jotted it down.  
  
What do you want me to tell him?  
  
Nick was silent for a second. Just...just tell him what happened.  
  
Rob nodded.   
  
Satisfied, Nick leaned his head back against the sofa, and closed his eyes. Rob glanced at his watch--5:45--and picked up the cordless phone to dial. He listened as the phone trilled in his ear. His call was answered on the third ring. Rob heard a gruff male voice say,   
  
Mr. Fallin?  
  
Yeah, who's this?  
  
This is Rob Martell, Mr. Fallin. Nick's roommate.  
  
Nick's roommate? What, what time is it? Is Nicholas okay?  
  
It's 5:45. Nick's okay, yeah, but he's...had a rough night.  
  
The other man's voice sharpened. What do you mean?  
  
He, uhm, well, he partied a little too much--  
  
'Partied'? Are you talking about drugs?  
  
Uh, yeah.  
  
God...  
  
Like I said he was partying last night and got into some trouble, but he's all right now.  
  
came the quick reply. What kind of trouble? Is my son under arrest?  
  
No, no, nothing like that. Moving away from the couch, Rob lowered his voice. Nick...Nick had too much coke and booze last night, Mr. Fallin. Like I said, he's fine now, but it was scary there for a while...real scary. Just thought you should know.  
  
Four hundred miles away in Pittsburgh, Burton Fallin shook his head in dismay, as he said to himself silently, Drugs again? Oh, God. After a moment he collected himself enough to say into the phone, Is Nick there? I want to talk to him.  
  
Just a second. Rob covered the receiver with his palm. Nick, he wants to talk to you.  
  
Nick opened his eyes, and just shook his head.  
  
Mr. Fallin? Nick, uh, Nick's not really in any shape to talk right now. Like I said, it's been a rough night. He laughed nervously.  
  
There was silence on the other end of the line. Finally, Nick's father said, Okay. Tell Nicholas that I'm coming up there. I'll catch the first flight. Tell him that.  
  
Rob nodded. All right, I'll let him know. Uhm, bye.  
  
  
  
Rob exhaled a large breath, returned the phone to its cradle, and looked at Nick.   
  
Well, now you've done it. Your dad's coming up here, said he's going to get the first flight out. He shook his head in bemusement. I don't get you, man. If I'd just come this close to buying it from shoving the white stuff up my nose, the last thing I'd want to do is make sure my old man knew about it.  
  
Nick stared at Rob with no expression, then closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the sofa. In a moment, he was asleep. Rob shook his head again, then resumed his place on the other end of the couch. He stretched his legs out in front of him, and relaxed back into the cushions. At last, he could finally get some rest.  
  
---+---  
  
It was nearly 10:30 in the morning when Burton Fallin's cab pulled up in front of his son's Manhattan apartment. In the more than a year since Nick had graduated from Yale Law and been working at Swann & Cranston, Burton had seen Nick only once. They'd had dinner when Burton had been in New York City on business, but Burton hadn't been to his son's apartment on that trip.   
  
The elder Fallin stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, then reached for his wallet to pay the cabbie. As he did so, he wondered for the umpteenth time that morning why his son had to be mixed up with drugs. Why? What was the attraction? If he needed to unwind couldn't he do it with a few glasses of Scotch or Bourbon? Why run all the risks that drugs entailed? Burton just couldn't understand it. Nicholas had so much going for him. He was smart as the dickens--handsome, with a promising career. Why the hell take a chance on throwing all that away on drugs?  
  
Burton rang the door of apartment 612, and waited. He told himself, again, that he was going to keep his temper in check, not rail at Nick about what a stupid-ass thing he had done last night. From what this Rob had said, Nicholas had had a very close call. That scared the hell out of Burton, and a large part of him just wanted to grab his son and shake some sense into him. But Nick was nearly twenty seven years old, not a child any more. Burton knew he couldn't just lay down the law, and expect his son to comply.   
  
Just then the door was swung open by a young man Burton didn't recognize. He was of medium height with brown hair that was currently in need of a good combing. He had on gray sweats. Burton knew this must be Nick's roommate Rob.   
  
Rob put up a hand to suppress a yawn, then said, You must be Mr. Fallin. Come on in.   
  
Burton stepped inside, and quickly took in the surroundings. The apartment was not large, but looked comfortable. There was a overstuffed couch and love seat in the living room. An oak coffee table stood in front of the couch, with a matching end table on either side. There was a large entertainment center against one wall which held a stereo and television. As Burton looked around, Rob walked over to the far side of the living room, and opened the drapes. The double set of windows faced East, and bright sunshine came streaming in. Yes, it looked like a very comfortable setup for two young men just starting their careers.  
  
said Rob, Can I get you something? Coffee? I don't think Nick's up yet. But I can go wake him, and let him know you're here.  
  
Burton nodded. Coffee would be fine. And I would appreciate it if you told Nicholas I was here, yes.  
  
Sure. I'll just go put on some coffee. Then I'll get him up. Uhm, please, take off your coat, and have a seat.  
  
Burton took off his jacket, and laid it across the arm of the love seat, then sat down reluctantly. What he really wanted to do was go into Nick's bedroom, and check on him himself. But he wouldn't do that. Nick probably wouldn't appreciate it. Instead he'd wait for his son to come to him.  
  
In a few moments, Rob was passing back through the living room on his way to the rear of the apartment and the bedrooms. It was several minutes before he reemerged. Burton noticed that his hair was now presentable, and he held a gym bag in his hand.  
  
Nick's up, Rob said. He's going to hit the shower. I'll get you that coffee now.   
  
When he reached the kitchen, he called back, Do you take cream or sugar?   
  
Burton replied, Just black.  
  
Rob returned shortly with a cup of coffee, and handed it to Burton. He looked around then, as if not quite sure what to do, and finally took a seat on the couch. Burton took a cautious sip of the steaming liquid.   
  
Neither man said anything for a moment, and then Burton broke the silence, Mind if I smoke?  
  
Uh, no. Here, let me get you an ashtray.   
  
Rob opened a drawer in one of the end tables, and pulled out a cheap glass ashtray. He set it on the coffee table within easy reach of the older man. Burton lit his cigarette, and drew the soothing smoke into his lungs.   
  
You've been Nick's roommate since he moved here, right?  
  
Uh, pretty much. I met him through work. I'm with Wilton-Langley--the brokerage house--and they're a client of Swann & Cranston. It just happened that Nick and I met right after my old roommate decided to move back home to Atlanta. Nick was looking for a place, and I was looking for somebody to share the rent, so here we are. He smiled winningly.  
  
I see.  
  
There was another silence. Finally, Rob said, Well, Mr. Fallin. You'll have to excuse me. I promised a friend I'd meet him at the gym at 11:00, and if I don't leave now, I'll be late. It was nice meeting you.  
  
Rob stood up, and Burton followed suit. The two men shook hands. Rob retrieved his gym bag from where he'd dropped it on his way to the kitchen earlier, and then headed for the door. He opened it, and then looked back and said, Nick should be out pretty soon. If I don't see you again, Mr. Fallin, have a good trip back to Pittsburgh.  
  
Thank you. And thank you for phoning me, Rob.  
  
Rob nodded, and then walked out the door. Burton heard him turn the key in the lock, and then he was gone. The older man sighed, and ran a hand across the top of his head. He wondered how long Nicholas was going to be. Too charged with anticipation to sit back down, he walked over to the window, and stared out at the passing traffic.  
  
It was probably fifteen minutes later that Burton heard the sounds of approaching footsteps. He turned around and saw Nick coming slowly into the room. The sight of his son gladdened Burton's heart. He looked the worse for wear--large circles under his eyes and lines of strain on his forehead like he was fighting a hangover--but he was all in one piece, thank God. He was wearing faded jeans and a Yale sweatshirt, but had no shoes on his feet, just white sweat socks. His hair was still damp from the shower.   
  
Burton drank in the sight of his son, unable to dismiss the thought that this might have been a very different meeting. He could have been looking down at an unconscious Nick in a hospital bed, not seeing him here, standing tall and strong in the middle of his Manhattan apartment. Burton sought for Nick's eyes, but not surprisingly, Nick refused to meet his father's gaze.  
  
Burton said, struggling unsuccessfully to keep the emotion out of his voice.  
  
Nick replied.  
  
I, uhm--you want some coffee? Rob made a pot.  
  
Nick ran a hand through his hair, Uh, yeah, I'll get it.  
  
Burton said quickly. You, you sit. I'll get it.   
  
He waited to see that Nick wasn't going to object, and then picked up his own coffee cup, and walked into the kitchen. Nick sat down on the couch, and rested his head in his hands. Now some five hours after he'd had Rob make that phone call he was regretting it. What had he been thinking? His father was just going to lay tons of grief on him. That was a given. Why in the world had he insisted that Rob make that call?  
  
In a moment, Burton was back with two cups of coffee. He handed one to Nick, and then sat down on the love seat, catty-cornered from his son. There was silence as the two men sipped at their coffee.   
  
Finally, Burton said, Nicholas, we need to talk about what happened last night. From what Rob tells me you had a close call. You want to tell me about it?  
  
Nick didn't say anything.  
  
Burton exhaled. Look, son, using drugs...it's not only wrong, it's dangerous. You have to know that. You got into trouble last night, that's what Rob said. What if you'd used just a little more of that stuff? You might be dead now, Nicholas. I might be viewing your body in the morgue.  
  
Nick objected.  
  
No, it's true, son. Burton lowered his gaze. And I, I couldn't take that.  
  
It was now Nick's turn to stare at the floor.  
  
His father continued. Look, I know we had this conversation before, when you were in college, but do you need help to stop? Should I get you help? A treatment center?  
  
No, Dad, I'm fine, Nick said quickly. I don't need that.  
  
Burton persisted. Are you sure? If you're hooked on this stuff maybe that's what we need to do.  
  
I'm not hooked. I just...I just got a little careless last night, that's all. I'm fine--Nick finished all in a rush--and it's not going to happen again, I swear.  
  
Nicholas...son, leaving aside the fact that you're risking arrest every time you use this junk, you're putting your health at risk--your whole future. If your, uh, your drug use is starting to affect your life, affect your work, you need help.  
  
I'm fine, Dad. I told you that, Nick said, his tone revealing his increasing agitation.  
  
Burton raised his voice for the first time, You're not fine'. If you were fine, I wouldn't be here!  
  
Nick's features took on a stubborn, set look, and Burton sighed in angry frustration. He stood up, and ran a hand through the thin hair atop his head. After a moment, he pulled out a cigarette, and lit it. He took a couple quick puffs, staring at his son as a sense of helplessness settled heavily on his shoulders. What was he going to do? Nicholas was refusing to even recognize that there was a problem. Damn!  
  
As Burton stood and smoked his cigarette, Nick stole covert glances at his father. God, he hated this. He wished again that he'd never asked Rob to make that call.  
  
Burton stubbed out his cigarette, then sat back down. He looked at Nick, who met his eyes briefly, before glancing away.   
  
So, you're telling me that there isn't a problem, that you could stop anytime you want?  
  
Nick said with a firm nod of his head.  
  
Burton's voice grew gentle. Then stop, son. Stop now before something really bad happens, something that can't be fixed. Will you do that?  
  
Nick didn't say anything for a moment, then he nodded, and said in quiet surrender, Yeah, okay.  
  
Burton stared at his son. He didn't know if Nicholas meant what he said, or not. Or if he meant it, that he would be able to stick to it.   
  
Burton thought, I wish to God I knew whether or not he was really hooked on this crap.   
  
But, he didn't see what else he could do right now but accept Nick's word...believe his son when he said he'd quit. For now, he'd have to put his faith in that, but he knew what plea he'd be adding to his prayers for the foreseeable future--please, God, keep my boy away from drugs.  
  
After a long moment, Burton nodded. Well, uhm, you hungry? How bout we go out for brunch, or lunch, or whatever the hell they serve around here this time of day?  
  
Nick got up. The last thing he felt like right now was eating--let alone eating with his father after what had just transpired--but he didn't see that he had much choice in the matter. His dad had come all the way from Pittsburgh, and come at his request. He couldn't just send him back home without even breaking bread with him.   
  
Okay, yeah. Give me a minute.   
  
Nick headed back to the bedroom to put on his shoes, and grab his jacket.  
  
Burton watched his son walk away. Then he got up, and retrieved his own jacket from the arm of the love seat. It's probably not too soon to start that prayer, he thought. As he waited for Nick to return, he began to repeat silently, Please, God, keep my boy away from drugs.  
  
The End  
  
**Author's Notes Addendum**: I was presented with a bit of a quandary in writing this story. We were told in Where You Are that Nick requested Rob to call his father, yet Burton did not know that it was Nick who instigated the call. Now it would seem to be the most natural thing in the world for Rob to have said to Burton while on the phone, Nick asked me to call you. Yet, Burton didn't know, so Rob must not have told him. So I had to finesse that part a bit. Also, when I watched the episode, it seemed to me that Nick would have been the one who requested Burton to come to New York City. Yet, if Burton didn't know that Nick had asked Rob to call him, obviously, Rob also did not say Nick wants you to come up here. So Nick must not have made that request. The way I wrote the character of Rob, I couldn't see him asking Burton to come to NYC on his own. So, I changed it around a little so that Burton was the one who decided he was coming to New York. I justified this by deciding that after six or seven years, Burton could easily remember the call as happening a little differently than it actually had, or he could have felt that what Rob was telling him was in essence a . Anyway, I thought I'd try to explain my reasoning here for the benefit of anyone who might wonder why I made the choices I did in this story. 


End file.
